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PLEASE NOTE : I am adding this unfinished story to the archive today 23/12/05 so that I do not miss the deadline. For more information please contact me at richard.buckley@virgin.net or take a look at www.richardandnancy.co.uk whre I will be updating this story.

My Fathers Wartime
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It was my brother David who told me that Dad had cried at the FA Cup final in 1959 as they sang 'Abide with me' and I wondered why this was. It is obviously an emotional song and Dad's beloved Nottingham Forest were at Wembley, but I think it may not just be the fact that he was there, but he was alive.

He and his young mates had made it, survived, but unfortunately not all. I'm sure he wasn't being self indulgent, Dad was never like that, but it wasn't that long, just over a decade before he had been released from the prison of war camps.

Dad had received his papers to enlist whilst still under the Doctor, having been involved in an accident, which hospitalised him, apparently bleeding from both ears recalled by his sister, my Aunt Sal, working for a company called Allen Brothers.

It was at Allen Brothers where he met Ron Sills who was a couple of years younger than Dad and was to become a life long friend, not only to Dad but to us all. After some basic training just outside of Nottingham which also involved being on watch the night of a Luftwaffe raid on West Bridgford Nottingham, which saw a stray bomb completely blow up a house, Dad was sent over to North Africa as part of the Desert Rats.

The journey took several weeks as they first went over to Nova Scotia, which took about 3 weeks having to zig zag across the Atlantic to avoid U boats. The convoy took passengers fleeing England to Canada and picked up army suppliers, such as, ammunition and vehicles (Dad being a driver) to be delivered to the thick of it in North Africa. Dad always recollected with a smile, about the journey and how he couldn't understand why the mess table was getting fewer and fewer people going for breakfast every morning, until he realised they were all suffering from seasickness.

He must of had a strong constitution as he was a fit young man a good footballer having had trials with QPR/West ham a year or so before the war, and he didn't tell me until a few weeks before his death on July 12th 2004 (many of the conversations you tend to have when you feel the end approaching, even though you don't really believe it) that he was always made the Captain of the teams he played for and he couldn't understand why. But I understood why, he had a lot of ability and always liked to try and play along with my bother and myself with a few tricks even later on in life, he was a very likeable/ fair person, and very intelligent.

Aunt Sal told me that as a young boy he was always reading and he would spend every penny on books. Penny's that were very scarce having had a father who had been wounded in WWI and confined to a wheel chair and had die when Dad was 16 years old, leaving his mother to bring up five children single-handed.

From Nova Scotia they headed to the Caribbean, although they didn't set foot on shore I believe they anchored in a bay for about a week, and from then on to Cape Town. Dad loved Cape Town he thought it was a spectacular place, it must of been like being on another planet at that time, he had never travelled abroad before and was from a very humble background. He liked it that much he arrived back at the ship a day late and was docked 20 or 30? Days pay, but I saw in his notes that he had made about his voyage to war that he had had "A good time". And why not!

After Cape Town they entered the Mediterranean, which must of been very dangerous and sailed though to North Africa. So there he was, this young man who had never been out of England thrown into the desserts of North Africa. There is a photo, taken by a Nottingham Paper photographer, of Dad at the age of about 12 going 'camping' with his mates.

It is a wonderful photo, I absolutely love it, and I hadn't seen it until just before Dad died, so luckily he was able to tell me about it. He just has this wonderful expression on his face, it isn't a clear photo but you can still see the happiness radiating from his face, full of life. It's just magical to see these poor children so happy going on an adventure probably only to Wilford a couple of miles away from home but still an adventure, but not realising that within a decade they would be going on a different adventure, of which not all would return.

These boys were so poor my Dad told me that when he entered the army and was handed under pants he had to ask what they were. It was just such a different world in those days of which we have little understanding or appreciation of now. So here was his new adventure in the desert, I call it an adventure, which probably glamorises it to me but my Dad never referred to it as an adventure.

He hated the dessert and was left alone one night having got split up from his unit during a sand storm. He managed to survive the bitterly cold night by sleeping next to a broken tank track and he met up with another unit the next day, but it wasn't too long before they were all surrounded by Rommel and forced into surrender at Tabrook. Having been forced to capitulate he was taken by ship to Italy to a prison of war camp. This was a terrible journey where many of the men were suffering from dysentery and malaria and forced to queue up and go to the toilet over the side of the ship and while people queued up a ladder they would uncontrollably mess on each other because they were so ill.

Dad was also very ill with dysentery whilst in Italy and was not treated with any medication, he was just placed onto a slab to survive or not. Luckily he made it, possibly due to his football fitness and strength.

He spent a couple of years in Italy, which I don't intentionally mean to gloss over, it is due to lack of information on my part and the fact that Dad didn't tell me too much about this period, possibly for my sake. I do know that back home he was being written about with a photo in the Nottingham papers, which told of the Notts Casuals Captain missing in action. This was around June and his family at home didn't find out that he was alive until the Red Cross around October informed them that he was a prisoner of war.

I can't imagine what it must of been like for his mother, though I remember she was a little but very strong willed woman, she must of been to bring up four boys and a girl and I remember she once saw off burglars in here house when she must of been in her late 70's. Aunt Sal told me that in prison he read the bible from "front to back and back to front". He wasn't a religious man but he was a bright boy who loved reading, when he left school his teachers pleaded with my grandmother to send him to university, but they were just too poor. When they went shopping my grandma would warn Dad not to touch anything for fear of breaking something they couldn't afford to pay for.

The only stories Dad told me about being in captivity was seeing men fight over the last leaf of a tree falling on the floor to use to smoke with and how when they received a loaf of bread between about 15 men for the day they would deal cards to choose who would slice the bread. It seems like madness now, but I guess you have to place yourself in that time and situation.

During the period of the war when the allies were breaking through from southern Italy and the Italians had just about lost their war, Dad along with a few others managed to escape the camp. He always told me about when they came across a monastery and were approached by a monk who said to them "Do you have to be angry" and Dad said "No, we are not angry" at this point the monk dropped his arms to allow a number of apples to fall. He had actually meant to say, "Do you have to be hungry".

Shortly after this a South African who was walking by the trees they were hiding in recaptured them. Dad was always amazed by how the Africaan had suddenly turned to look straight at them. He intimated that they considered attacking the loan enemy soldier, but luckily hadn't as he was closely followed by a German soldier with sub-machine gun.

With the Italians packing up, the Germans arrived and transported the Allied inmates to Germany. Dad spent Christmas Day 1942 - Check - being transported on a freezing cold train with only dried peas to eat off of the floor. He had also spent his 21st birthday in captivity, in fact 19 to 25, the best years of your life.

Dad noted that the Germans wardens were more like gentleman, but they also probably knew that the end of the war was approaching and it was probably to protect them. The Germans once organised a game of football that Dad played in, but he said that the allied players were just too weak, malnourished and hardly able to walk than even run. During the game he was bitten by a German Alsatian dog while retrieving the football too close to the barbed wire fence.

REARRANGE - Dad flew home aboard a Dakota sitting on oil drums, quite a rough flight by all accounts and when he got back to his mothers house apparently she just said "Hey up me lad", I could never understand this. I would of thought there would have been rejoicing and celebrating, but there was nothing. I don't understand this, but my only guess is that so many people had suffered loss and sacrificed so much that no one did celebrate.

NB - Great photo of Dad and Tom on arrival home.

During all his time in captivity, his mother saved all his army pay. Even though most of the family were at home, Dads older brother Bill was an engineer so was required to stay, his younger brother Tom was in the Navy - NB. Bumped into Uncle Ron while in Portsmouth - and his youngest brother Ben was too young to enlist. So even though the family must have been suffering hardship at home, his mother would not touch the money. During a late night conversation with Dad after one too many wine's Dad confessed that he had spent a few weeks drinking on his arrival home. But you can't blame him for this, although I detected that he still felt guilty over doing so, even after nearly 60 years, but it must of been his way of counselling.

ADD - George Burke

ADD THIS SOMEWHERE - On a resent stay over at my house for the weekend my Uncle Ron Sills told me about receiving a letter from Dad during his stay at Stalag XIB - CHECK - Ron had let me see the letter not long after Dad had died, so he had kept that letter safe for all those years.

I find it an amazing read - READ AGAIN - He is obviously writing to assure people at home and mentions nothing of the hardship and suffering he faced (physically and mentally). As we sipped over a pint together in my local pub, my Uncle Ron told me how much it had meant to him to receive a letter from Dad. I suppose Ron must have looked up to Dad being an older pal from work and having gone to war. I had never considered this growing up, having get togethers with the old gang of friends for parties and holidays, and I never considered how well his friends respected Dad.

I always new he was popular, but never considered why until now.

ADD - How Dad met Mum and the coincidence of the blown up house in Bridgeford, which killed several members of Mums family

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